by Conrad Jones
The last room was closed. They split either side of the door and the team leader signalled for the snake camera. He inserted it through a keyhole beneath the handle and twisted it. His face stiffened as he stood up and he twisted the handle and opened the door. Rind looked over his shoulder. The stench in the room was rank. He heard the entry team leader call the building clear and then they stepped into the bedroom. The stench intensified and his stomach turned. On the far wall, the decaying body of a man was crucified upside down. Nails pierced his ankles and wrists. Dried blood ran in blackened rivulets down the wall. The skin on his face was leathery and brown; his hair was long greying and weaved into dreadlocks. The blackened eye sockets were empty. His body was covered in text that Rind couldn’t understand. The killer had carved words into every inch of the body bar the head. On the wall opposite the body was a full-length mirror, the words ‘When you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’ were smeared onto the glass in blood. Rind took the photograph of Geoff Ryder from his pocket and compared it to the leathery death mask of a black man. “I think don’t this is Mr Ryder, do you?” he muttered.
******************************
Peter Barton saw Ryder’s trigger finger move but nothing happened. “You left the safety on,” he said as he swung the spade in a wide arc. He hit Ryder with the flat of the blade above his ear and he collapsed into a heap on the patio. Barton was on him in a flash. He sat on top of his unconscious body and used the spade to split the cable ties. He picked up the shotgun and dragged Geoff Ryder into the villa by his ankles.
When Geoff Ryder came around, he was in excruciating pain. His shoulder, arms and chest felt crushed and his breathing was more difficult than usual. He could feel that one side of his face was broken and swollen. The pain brought him back to his senses quickly. He was tied into his leather reading chair but he couldn’t fathom why he was in so much pain. Looking down, he saw a tyre had been forced over his shoulders and was wedged around his chest. Sharp barbs had penetrated his flesh making it agonising to move. Each breath meant that the weight forced the barbs deeper into his skin. The tyre was soaked and his shirt felt wet. He could smell lighter fluid and it was powerful enough to make his eyes water. As his head cleared he heard splashing behind him. “What are you doing?” he croaked. “Call the police. I’m ready to give myself up. You know that Brendon didn’t kill all those women, don’t you?”
No reply.
“Barton!” he gasped. “You know that I did it, don’t you?”
Splash, splash.
“Take your nephew and call the police!” he gasped desperately. “I haven’t killed since I moved here. You must know that.”
Silence.
“Barton!”
Silence.
“Get this fucking contraption off me!”
Silence.
“I need my oxygen.”
Silence.
He heard movement behind him and then the sound of a match striking. “Barton!” Then the whoosh of an accelerant igniting. The flames rushed across the tiles to his chair. He felt the heat singing the hairs on his legs first, then his trousers caught fire, blistering his skin. The flames spread rapidly up his body to the fuel soaked tyre and the wrapping sizzled and the rubber crackled. Geoff Ryder was confused by panic when the gunpowder inside the tyre ignited. It burned white hot at a temperature so high that it melted through his flesh, muscles and bones in seconds. When it reached critical temperature, packed so tightly in the tyre, it exploded and ripped him in half.
Epilogue
Annie looked at a butchered carcass on the stainless steel slab. Alec and Stirling were opposite her. Kathy Brooks flicked through some crime scene images on her screen until she found the one that she wanted. “Here is where the prison officers cut his body down when they finally regained control of the wing.” She pointed to the screen. “Four inmates were killed during the riot.” She shook her head. “I’m going to be here all night processing them. How long did the riot last for heaven’s sake?”
“Sixteen hours,” Stirling said. “The prisoners took down the barricade when they got hungry.”
“They certainly spent a long time on Harris,” Kathy said pointing to the corpse. Annie looked at Alec and closed her eyes to blot out the image but it was already engrained on her mind. “The attack took place in the shower room on the third landing and when they had finished, they hung him from the top landing by his foot. The bruising around the ankle indicates that he was still alive, just.”
“Where is the rest of him?” Stirling asked coldly.
“We recovered his genitals from one of the drain traps but we’re still looking for the rest. They probably flushed him down the toilets so that nothing could be sewn back on.” She shrugged. “Once I’ve finished, I’ll get a full report over to you.”
“Thanks, Kathy,” Annie said.
“Good news about Simon Barton,” Kathy said as she covered the mutilated corpse. “It’s not often we recover a missing person after so long. Who was the girl?”
“Marta Soreno,” Alec replied. She went missing from a school in Benidorm four years ago. Apparently they’re both doing well physically but they’re not talking yet. Barton’s parents flew out there yesterday.”
“We think that Harris was the abductor or he certainly had a hand in taking him to Spain. He must have stayed in touch with Ryder over the years.”
“He got what was coming to him,” Stirling grunted.
“I hope you’re going to keep that to yourself when the press are around,” Alec said.
“Yes, Guv.” Stirling mumbled.
“And Geoff Ryder had them in cages all that time?” Kathy asked incredulously.
“It would appear so.”
“The Spanish found his remains in a burnt out villa about ten kilometres from the one they raided.” Annie sighed. “They found the cages in the loft.”
“They raided the wrong address first,” Stirling scoffed. “DI Rind thinks Ryder bought the villas that they raided but only used the surname ‘Ryder’ on the one that they raided first. They have no idea who the victim was there but Harris’s prints were found. They’re searching the woods around it with cadaver dogs. A local postman said that he had never seen anyone coming or going but noticed a Jeep there every couple of months.”
“Geoff Ryder bought his other villa under an umbrella company, hence the mix up.” Alec added.
“Simon Barton says that his uncle took them from Ryder’s villa but that’s all he’s saying. Peter Barton got to Ryder before we did,” Annie sighed again. “The boy keeps on asking where his uncle has gone.”
“Any sign of him?”
“No. He called the Guardia to the villa but he had gone when they arrived. He dropped the kids at the hospital, telephoned Simon’s parents and disappeared.”
“If he’s got any sense, he won’t resurface,” Stirling added. He looked at Alec and waited for a reprimand but none came.
“Thanks again, Kathy.” Annie smiled.
“No problem.” She touched Annie’s arm and walked away to carry on with her gruesome work.
Annie took off her gown and dropped it into a laundry bin. She couldn’t wait to get out of the lab. They walked in silence along highly polished corridors for what seemed like an age until they reached the exit. An icy wind met them as they walked to Alec’s car. Despite the cold, the fresh air was more than welcome although the stench of death lingered in her nostrils. “I think I’m going to walk back, Guv,” she said. “I need to clear my head.”
“It might take more than a brisk walk to do that,” Alec smiled as he climbed into the vehicle. “See you back at the office.” Stirling nodded and raised his hand before climbing into the passenger seat. She watched the car move to the exit and then it slipped into the traffic. She pulled her coat tightly around her and began the short walk to Canning Place where she caught her reflection in a shop window and stopped. ‘When you look in the mirror, what looks back at you, Annie?’ she hea
rd Tod Harris’s voice ask in her mind. “I’m comfortable with what I see,” she whispered to herself. “It will take time but I’ll get there.” Annie put her hands into her pockets and breathed in the sea air. As she walked through the busy streets, the breeze blew the shadows from her mind. She was thinking about visiting Becky in hospital, when her mobile rang. The screen showed a withheld number.
“DI Jones,” she frowned as she heard static on the line. The sound that comes with a call from abroad. “Hello.”
“Hola, Inspector,” Peter Barton said gruffly.
“Barton?” Annie asked surprised.
“I’ll make this quick,” he said calmly. “I’m sick of law enforcement agencies not doing their jobs properly. You know how I have spent years tracking killers.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know that you don’t believe that Brendon Ryder was not the Butcher but that is all in the past anyway.” He sighed. “Geoff Ryder told me that Tod Harris spent a lot of time at his father’s grave. It didn’t seem that important at the time but I’ve had time to think. You might want to take a look there.”
“What do you think we’ll find, Barton?” Annie shook her head angrily. “And why would I listen to you anyway?”
“Because I worked out who the real Butcher of Crosby Beach was,” he said. “As soon as Brendon Ryder was dead, you stopped looking and Geoff Ryder emigrated. Geoff was the Butcher. He set Brendon up.”
“I don’t believe that.” Annie said although doubt had set in weeks before.
“He told me as much before he died,” Barton said frustrated. “He fooled you, don’t let Harris do the same. Do your job properly, Inspector and nail Harris for everything that he’s done!”
“Harris is dead,” Annie said flatly. She wasn’t sure why she had divulged that fact but it felt good to tell him. “I know he took your nephew and I know he killed Jackie Webb and Jayne Windsor.”
“That’s the tip of the iceberg,” Barton sighed. “He kept Simon’s library book. He kept trophies, Inspector, find them and you have a chance of putting some of his victims to rest.” The line clicked and Peter Barton was gone.
******************************
A stone angel looked on as Annie walked through the door of a forensic tent. A gust of wind followed her in and threatened to rip the material from its frame. Two white clad figures were waist deep in the grave and the excavation was well underway. Annie felt a jolt of excitement as she spotted a row of plastic evidence bags to her left.
“Morning, Guv,” one of the CSI acknowledged her.
Alec entered the tent a second later. “How are you getting on?” he asked. “Looks like you’re fairly deep already.”
“Everything at the top was loose. The composition of the soil has changed now. Everything below here hasn’t been disturbed for a very long time.” The CSI smiled. “We’ve used ground penetrating radar to confirm that we have extracted everything that was buried here,” he pointed to the bags. “It’s quite a collection.”
“Thanks, good work,” Annie said distractedly. She bent down and studied the bags. Rings, watches, necklaces, she counted eight of them. She shook her head as she picked up a bag and read an inscription on the back of a silver locket. The words were in Spanish. Using her fingertips, she moved the rings beneath the plastic and saw a wedding band with a Russian inscription inside it. An elastic band held some old boarding cards and a bundle of blank passports. A larger bag had a number of envelopes containing photos, memory sticks and SD cards. “Can you get these straight to the lab as soon as possible please,” Annie said without looking through them. She had seen enough of Tod Harris’s handiwork to last a lifetime.
“I’ll send them straight away.”
“Thanks,” Annie said.
“Barton was right,” Alec sighed. “Again.”
“Are we done, Guv?” Annie replied curtly. She didn’t want to give Barton any credit at all.
“I think so,” Alec nodded.
She turned and ducked out of the tent. The wind tugged at her coat and she pulled it tightly around her to keep the cold out.
“Do you wonder who they all were, Guv?” Annie asked. “All those rings and chains have their own story to tell, don’t they?” They walked slowly through the graveyard and Annie contemplated how they could identify, which trophies belonged to which victims.
“I’m trying not to think about it, Annie,” Alec shook his head. “Harris was infatuated with a monster to the point where he became one.” Alec had seen several. This monster was dead and they would have to piece together where he had been and what he had done.
“You know when I think back to the mountain of research that we recovered from Barton’s home, it makes me feel like we have our finger in the hole in the dyke, holding back the lake.” She shuddered. “Harris is just one of hundreds of killers, who are active. Taking Harris down is just a drop in the ocean.”
“There could be thousands around the world, Annie.” Alec said grimly. “We can only tackle what is in front of us and hope our colleagues abroad do likewise. It’s not a job for the weak. Take comfort in the fact that we do it well.”
“Do we do it well enough?” she said beneath her breath. “Sometimes, I have to wonder.” The wind gusted again and a tear ran from her good eye. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and headed for her Audi with a knot in her stomach. She knew that it wouldn’t be very long before the MIT had another killer to hunt.
“I need to take this,” Alec apologised. He answered his mobile and turned his back to the wind. “Ramsay.” His face turned ashen as he listened. He nodded silently and turned to Annie. “Simon Barton has started talking,” he said frowning. Annie felt a shiver as the wind blew through her again. “We need to go and see him straight away.”
*****************************
DC Hodge was losing the will to live as he pulled onto a rundown industrial estate near the mouth of the River Ribble. Most of the units looked closed or abandoned. The rain was hammering down almost horizontally off the estuary, carried in on a blustery wind from the north. He slowed down to encounter the first of a series of speed bumps and despite his careful approach, his head banged against the roof. There didn’t seem to be any reception area for the site, so he took the left hand fork and trundled over the speed ramps for a few hundred yards. The units on either side were locked up, many for sale or to let but he persevered until he reached a unit that was open for business. He checked the name of the business and pulled to a halt outside. Two elderly mechanics stopped working to see who their visitor was. Hodge thought they might be brothers. Their baldness was disguised by identical comb-over styles. It was hard to distinguish between them. Hodge sighed and opened the door, and then he took a deep breath and ran for it. He was drenched before he reached the shelter of the mechanics’ workshop.
“Detective Constable Hodge,” he said shaking the rain from his leather jacket. “I believe someone called the helpline yesterday?” The mechanics nodded in unison. “Great. How can I help?”
“We saw the appeal in the local newspaper,” one brother said in a broad accent. He took a pouch of rolling tobacco from his filthy overalls and gripped a premade cigarette between oily fingers. “You are looking for a man with curly grey hair. Something to do with a van, which crashed into the river a few miles down?”
“The newspaper said that the police found a rib adrift in the bay?” the other brother added.
“Yes,” Hodge nodded. “Have you seen someone that fits the description?”
“Yep.” One brother said.
“Yep.” The second agreed.
“Could you tell me what you’ve seen?” Hodge encouraged them.
“Bottom unit on the left hand side,” one brother said with a nod. “The bloke, who owns it, has hair like that and he has a couple of inflatable boats in there.” He looked at his brother for support but he was busy rolling another smoke. “Funny thing is, I saw him leaving in a Jeep the
other day. He had cut all his hair off. Shaved to the bone it was. I nearly didn’t recognise him.”
“He told me and I thought that was odd.” His brother chirped in.
“We both thought it was odd.”
“I mean, why shave all your hair off?”
“Especially in the winter.”
“That’s odd.”
“We both think it is odd, so we called you.”
“When was it that you saw him?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“And you’re sure it was the same man.”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you get the number plate?”
“No sorry, but it was a ninety-six Jeep Cherokee. Bottle green.”
“Do you see him there often?”
The brothers looked at each other and nodded. “He’s there a lot but at odd times. Never seen him with anyone else.”
“He’s always alone.”
“Never waves hello, does he.”
“Never, miserable bastard.”
“I said there was something odd about him.”
“We both said he was not right. Odd, that’s what we said.”
Hodge looked from one brother to the other and decided that they didn’t get much opportunity to talk to people. “Listen, I’m really grateful. I’m going to go and take a look around, thanks again.”
*****************************
Simon Barton had a haunted look. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was pale. His parents flanked him on a beige settee; their eyes darted from Alec to Annie as they walked in and sat down. The family liaison officer, who had called them, remained in the doorway.